Dirty Laundry
by Lasrevinu
Summary: Yet another sabbatical fic. GSR


Disclaimer: Alas, I didn't win the $390 million jackpot, so I can't buy the show. Or at least bribe one of the writers to let me have a crack at the finale. Just so you know, it would've been an hour of Grissom and Sara going as far as Standards and Practices would allow. TV-MA, baby. TV-MA.

Rating: T

Summary: GSR Another sabbatical fic.

Spoilers: Up to _Law of Gravity_

A/N: This idea was blatantly stolen from SuperFangirl, who was nice enough to write a part of it because I got stuck on this fic. A lot. I wrote the rest while watching _Grease 2_. I might as well tell you now, I have that movie memorized. Go ahead and judge me.

Dirty Laundry

They did everything together except laundry.

It surprised Grissom how his tried and true routine could suddenly accommodate an extra person without skipping a beat. He absorbed Sara into his life quickly and completely.

Except for the laundry.

At the beginning, a little voice in the back of Grissom's head kept whispering to him that it wouldn't last, that they'd get tired of spending day after day with each other at work _and _at home. He was a loner at heart; he needed his space; he didn't like having anyone around. Or so he thought. As the weeks went by, the middle-aged scientist learned that he reveled in close contact with Sara. His hands were on her the moment they stepped through the door -- not to grope or fondle, but to hug. Grissom would pull her into his arms, tuck his face into the crook of her neck, and inhale. When it was time to eat, he'd take the seat next to her instead of across from her, sometimes resting his hand on her thigh as he took a break between bites. Afterwards, he'd snuggle up against her as they watched TV or read, his fingers running through the strands of her hair. He didn't much question why he needed this. Perhaps it was because he'd been starved of human contact for years, or maybe he touched her simply because he could. After all those years of avoidance, if he wanted to put his arm around Sara, he could.

So he did.

Though she made no protest, Sara's ease into intimacy came at a much slower pace. She welcomed his touch and looked forward to the attention he paid her, but Grissom's near-giddiness surprised her. A week after Nick had been kidnapped and buried alive, he had called her early one morning on her day off as she began to fill her tub with bath salts to soak away the built-up anxiety of the previous week. The moment she saw his number in the display of her cell phone, Sara had shut the water off, expecting to be told to get to a scene pronto. Nick was still on leave, so the lab was short-staffed more than usual.

"Sidle."

"Hi."

"Hey," Sara had said into the receiver, waiting for instructions on where to go.

"I, uh…I just dropped Nick's parents off at the airport," Grissom said quickly. "They, uh, they wanted to thank me before they left for what the lab had done and Nick wasn't up for driving so I, uh…did."

She waited a moment before saying, "Okay."

"So, anyway, I'm outside in front of your building. I wanted to see if you wanted to go get breakfast. If you didn't have some already."

Sara watched the steam rise up from the water as it was sucked down the drain. "Sure."

"Would you, uh…mind if I use your bathroom first?"

"Come on up."

After letting him in, she pointed Grissom in the direction of her bathroom and excused herself so she could go change out of her sweats. Five minutes later, Sara had found him on her couch. "They kept thanking me," he said out of the blue. "And all I could think was, 'What if we didn't find him?'"

"We found him. That's all that matters," Sara reassured him.

"If that call came ten minutes after it did, it would've been on the nightshift," Grissom said, staring blankly ahead as she crossed her arms over her midsection nervously. "That could've been you…"

"It wasn't me."

"It could've been you, Sara."

She pursed her lips and took a seat next to him, careful not to touch, as he seemed rather agitated. "You would've found me. You found Nick. You would've found me."

"I'm not so sure," Grissom said cryptically, causing Sara to lean away from him. "I would've gone crazy." He looked down at his hands. "You know how surgeons say they can't operate on family members? That they have to be detached in order to cut someone open? If it were you in that…" he stopped as if unable to finish verbalizing his thought. "If it were you," he continued after taking a breath, "I couldn't be detached."

They never did get to eat breakfast that morning.

Looking back, she supposed they rushed into a relationship. There didn't seem to be much sense in taking things slow. They quickly set up camp at her apartment. Sara wasn't a clotheshorse, so making room for his things wasn't hard. The only time he returned to his place was to feed his bugs, water his plants, and do laundry. The decision to divide laundry duties came early on in their relationship. Grissom lay on Sara's bed as she tossed a load of clean clothes, still warm from the dryer, on the comforter. While she carefully folded some towels, he extracted a pair of boxers from the pile.

"They smell like flowers."

"It's the fabric softener: _Spring Awakening_. Nice, huh?"

He picked up a green plaid shirt and took a whiff. "I'm going to smell like a girl. More specifically, I'm going to smell like _my _girl. I think it might be best if we did our laundry separately."

Sara was so dazzled at the thought of him calling her his anything that she just nodded numbly at his laundry suggestion. There was something so…permanent-sounding to his words. His girl. She had never been anyone's girl, never meant enough to belong to someone. Sara knew a careless word from Grissom could cut her like a knife, but it was no small epiphany to realize a loving phrase, however informal it was spoken, could soothe old wounds like nothing else.

So they did their laundry apart.

She learned a few things about him right off the bat. First of all, Grissom paid for meals. They didn't go out much, but when they did, if Sara so much as reached for her purse when the bill came, he would look hurt. It struck her as odd, initially. Though she didn't have a boatload of dating experience, whenever she had offered to split the cost of a date in the past, the gesture was met with open arms. She was so used to paying her own way.

The second thing Sara learned was that Grissom used the phrase "make love." A lot. What they did in the bedroom was "making love," not sex, and what he looked forward to after a long, hard day was "lovemaking," not screwing. It gave her pause, at first, to hear those words come from his mouth. Sex was an act. Sex, she had had. It was something people did to achieve pleasure. Sex was very goal-oriented; Sara understood that and could relate to it. The term "making love" evoked…emotion. It asked more from her than plain old "sex" did. It asked for closeness, it begged for vulnerability, for her to be laid bare and loved.

And it was so very foreign for Sara.

Her entire adult life had been about her job. That era had been dotted with relationships that had not lasted longer than the average very bad cold. And not unlike colds, the endings of those relationships had been greeted with relief. She tried, sometimes very hard, to make them work but as she hit her thirties, Sara surmised that there was just something about her that was not worth the trouble. She supposed it was because she was damaged goods and somehow it showed, somehow men had a radar for that kind of thing.

Or maybe it was in her DNA. Maybe she was just her mother's daughter.

Her years in Las Vegas hammered that point home. The man she loved had systematically ignored her for the better part of five years while the only man who had shown interest had been a loser, like every other guy who had shown interest in her before she came to Vegas. A good guy, the kind of guy worth loving, was just not going to make the effort when it came to her. It was a realization that Sara came to slowly, but solidly. After breaking down and revealing her past to him, she had been sure she closed the book on any possibility of a relationship. Not only had he seen the affects of her past implemented in her actions -- the insubordination, the drinking -- but he had a confession now, solid proof that Miss Sara Sidle, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, was messed up.

Sara went through what she could only describe as a mourning period. She grieved for whatever hopes she had for a relationship with Grissom. By the time Nick had been kidnapped, Sara had let go of the fantasies. She still loved him -- that was not going to change. Her expectations, however, were thrown to the curb. She knew he looked at her and saw what everyone else saw, that intangible mark, like a scarlet letter, what kept every decent guy at arm's length. Others may have sensed she was broken, but he knew it, and any hope of him overcoming that knowledge had been obliterated not long after her confession, when he'd flirted with Sofia, when they'd laughed in the layout room, and had gone to dinner like normal people. The lingering hope that he'd ask her out after shift was gone, that he'd look at her and see anything more than a broken being was gone.

So when he did, when he pulled her into his arms and held her, when he stroked her face and whispered her name as if it were a prayer…Sara didn't know what to do.

Grissom did. He led the way. He took the steps, clearing a path so that she could walk freely and unencumbered.

Gradually, confidence took root in Sara. At first it was just a touch or two when they were putting together a meal in her kitchen -- a hand moving over his back for a quick caress while he chopped lettuce for their salad or watched scallops sauté. Her touch grew bolder as time passed. She could recall the first time she casually rested her hand on his knee while they watched TV. Grissom didn't seem to notice -- he was far too busy staring at a tiger tackle a gazelle while he twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers -- but it was a small triumph for Sara. Slowly, she let herself have him, let herself trust that he'd welcome her touch like she welcomed his.

Soon, she was reaching for him as much as he did her.

He liked it. Very much. That, she could see. The more secure she felt, the more she opened up. The strength of her security was first tested when they processed a crucified lounge singer and discussed religion. Sara was very honest in her lack of faith, honest to the point where, when he walked out of the room, part of her had to wonder if he had been greatly offended by her questioning the existence of a higher power. She kept cool and, when he returned, calmly asked if she had anything that upset him. He answered her sweetly, and all Sara could do was smile at her nerd.

When, barely a week later, she gently but firmly reminded him to go easy on Greg, she felt fear slice through her, tingling her spine as she steeled herself for a "typical" Grissom reaction. But he didn't recoil from her in anger or lash out at her from frustration. No, he took what she had to say to heart, because he loved her, because he held her opinion high above everyone else's. Sara later watched as Grissom went out of his way to be nice to his young protégé and felt her heart glow with warmth. He was trying. In all the years they had known each other, it had been her burden to try -- to try and get close to him, to try and understand his quirks, to try to give him space, to try to share her feelings.

And now…he seemed to assume that burden fully. The weight had been lifted off of her shoulders and Sara felt like she was floating, all smiles, through life.

When she happened upon him in his office after shift, Sara tested out her newfound confidence once again, lightly teasing him about his misanthropic tendencies before hinting that there was some non-literary fun waiting for him at home if he got up off his pumpkin and followed her. Once out of his site, the old insecurities began to swallow her whole. As Sara drove to her apartment, she felt her stomach churn.

_Had she gone too far? Did she just push him away?_

"Please come home, please come home," she whispered to herself as she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Sara nervously parked in her spot and got out of her car, yelping loudly when she felt a hand close around her upper arm.

Grissom laughed. "Sorry…didn't mean to scare you. I followed you home the entire time. Didn't you see me?"

She supposed she shook her head. Maybe she didn't, she couldn't recall. She was just so glad he was there, and that he was smiling. Bubbling with uncontainable glee, Sara punctuated their daily hug with little kisses along his neck, peeling down the collar of his shirt with her teeth so she could get at the skin hidden under it. Time after time, when her fears began to get the best of her, when she felt like she was not good enough, Grissom rose to the occasion and, though he did not know it, quelled the lifelong doubt that plagued her.

As she worked on what would be an impressive hickey right under his collarbone, Sara snaked her hands around his waist, tugging his shirt up and out of the waistband of his pants. Her cool hands found the warm skin of his belly; she felt him suck in his breath self-consciously. Her brow creased as she moved up along his jaw to his lips and kissed away his own insecurities. To her, he was gorgeous. The most beautiful being she had ever set eyes on. Her hands traveled slowly and began to explore his back, kneading the skin there before dipping her fingertips down into his trousers, letting them tease the upper part of his ass.

Sara briefly pulled away from his mouth. "I thought about you all day," she breathed. "I missed you."

Too focused on the task at hand, she didn't see Grissom's mouth form a small frown before she attacked it once again. All of her might centered on him, on making him happy. He loved her, utterly and truly. He knew about her family, he knew about the murder and the abuse -- and he loved her anyway.

For the first time ever, Sara didn't feel broken.

She was aggressive, but not forceful, as she pushed him towards the bedroom. Every ounce of her attention was spent on him, on worshiping the parts of Grissom he kept hidden under clothes. Watching him come triggered her own orgasm, and she collapsed on top of him, kissing his forehead once before taking a place at his side on the bed. She covered their bodies with a sheet, using the corner to lovingly dab at the sweat coursing from his temple.

Sara hummed, settling in next to him. "I love you," she yawned, falling asleep as she clung to him.

Her giddiness continued into the next month. She was all smiles and sass, perfectly content that her personal life was on solid ground for the first time. He was there for her -- whether at work or at home, he was hers. Grissom seemed to get more quiet, but he had had quiet periods before. It was just his nature.

Or so she thought.

The return of the miniature killer and Ernie Dell's subsequent suicide had the usually quiet Grissom practically catatonic. He failed to hug her as they stepped into her apartment that morning after shift. Concerned, Sara helped him peel off his coat before leading him to the living room. "You want a beer? Some coffee, maybe?"

"No, I…I'm fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Grissom stared at his hands. "Not particularly."

"I'm here if you need me."

For the next few days, she was there, but he didn't seem to need her. He didn't sleep. A light sleeper, Sara was up at the faintest car alarm or fire truck siren. Every time she woke up, she'd find him laying on his side, staring into nothing. By the third day, she sat up in bed, getting his attention.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

Finding no answer, Grissom shrugged.

"You need to sleep."

"I'm fine," he told her. "Go back to sleep." He gently tugged her arm until she was flat on the bed once again, and then pulled her to him, spooning her body up against his.

She listened to him breathe for as long as she could before she felt her eyes close again. As they prepared for work later that night, he asked her to meet him at his office when shift was over. "I've got something to show you," he said quietly.

"Sure," she smiled, expecting something forensics-related that only she could appreciate.

When she took a seat on the edge of his desk towards the end of the shift, Sara was surprised to see him get up quickly and close the door, leaving them alone. She felt her heart race. They never got frisky at the lab -- never so much as held hands. She moved to get closer to him, but he expertly avoided her embrace. Grissom moved behind his desk and opened a drawer.

"I got this in the mail a little while ago." He handed her a stiff piece of paper.

"Williams College?" she asked, confused.

"Just read it."

Sara made quick work of the text. "I…don't understand. They offered you a teaching position?"

"Temporarily. For four weeks."

The paper felt like a lead weight in her hand. "You're going?"

"Yes, but only for four weeks."

All she heard was 'yes.' He was going. He was leaving her. "So…you've decided?"

"Yes."

"Well, I…why? Why are you going?" she asked, drawing her brows together.

Grissom took the paper from her hands and put it back in his desk. "It's a chance to get away," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Work is just…too much right now. This is a good way for me leave Las Vegas, but still work in some capacity, so it's not like I'm taking some vacation."

"So it's win-win," she said, her voice wavering.

He made a face, but they were soon interrupted by an overeager Greg, who had burst through the office door with a file in hand. "You'll never guess…"

"Don't you ever knock?" Grissom barked, causing the former lab tech to shrink back.

"Sorry, Boss…I just…well…the case…"

"Let me see it, Greg." Sara took the file from him, hoping to negate any rudeness on Grissom's part with common courtesy. She flipped through it. "Um…what is this?"

His confidence partially recovered, Greg quickly explained his findings. "And so, I did a search for Mabel Lee one county over and found that she owns a trailer sixty miles from here. It's her."

Sara raised her brows. "Mabel Lee? _The _Mabel Lee we're looking for?"

"Yep."

"The Mabel Lee who has been poisoning her Johns and leaving them for dead in the local parks--"

"That's the one."

"--is a seventy-four year old Asian woman?"

Greg gaped at her like a fish. "Uh…um…"

"You got the wrong Mabel." Sara smiled sympathetically and handed him back the file. "It happens to the best of us."

When she and Grissom were alone, he turned to face her. "You lied. You never would've made a mistake like that, even when you were a rookie."

She shrugged. She wasn't about to argue with the man who had spent the last year blowing up the balloon that was her confidence only to stick it with a pin and watch it pop at work.

It was Sara's turn to be quiet. They arrived at her place and she darted immediately for the bathroom -- simultaneously desiring to escape his daily hug and fearing that he wouldn't offer one to begin with. After a few minutes, she heard a soft knock on the door.

"Sara?"

She waited several moments and sniffed. "Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

There was a long pause. "Okay. I'm going to run to my place and put a load of laundry in the wash. I'm running low on underwear."

"Fine. Bye."

"Goodbye, honey."

She was in bed, feigning sleep, when he returned an hour later. Grissom climbed into bed and held her, giving her a small kiss on an exposed shoulder blade. Sara squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stay back. This was the beginning of the end. Whatever comfort he found in routine would soon vanish as he started up a new one in Massachusetts. He'd be away from his commitments in Vegas; he'd meet new people.

He wanted a fresh start.

Sara had been used up and secondhand since the day she was born. She wasn't anyone's fresh start.

The pathetic part of her tried to hold on. She continued with life as if nothing was happening, only much more guarded, with far less confidence. She stopped initiating any kind of intimacy, and they were back to him doing all the touching. Sara noticed he seemed to want to make love more often than before, and she had to wonder if he was just getting his fill of her before he reclaimed his freedom. She knew she should've refused him, should've kicked him out of her bed and her apartment, but he was her weakness. When he'd press soft kisses to her cheek on the couch, she'd let him slowly push her back down along the length of it while he undressed both of them just enough to facilitate a quick coupling. And when he'd run a hand over her side as she lay in bed, she'd part her legs and let him climb atop her, enjoying the experience despite herself.

The hopeful part of her could see he was trying, would beg her to see that he loved her, but she just couldn't let herself believe it. He was leaving her. She wasn't enough to make him stay.

And that crushed her spirit more than all the careless words that had ever come out of his mouth.

He said his real goodbye to her as they left her apartment on their way to work. Grissom held her face in his hands, sighing a bit before pressing his lips to hers. The kiss began soft, but he soon slipped his tongue in her mouth, massaging Sara's slowly as he changed the angle and pressed himself harder against her. They made out for a few minutes, getting lost in the feel of each other.

"I'm going to miss this," he mumbled into her mouth, and she pulled back suddenly, remembering why they were standing at her front door in an intense lip-lock.

"We should get going," she said, and those were the last words she spoke to him until he approached her in the locker room at the end of shift.

Grissom claimed he'd miss her, but the frightened voice in the back of her mind kept screaming, _If he cared, he wouldn't leave at all_.

Their contact was minimal. Grissom was never one for long phone conversations -- or long conversations in general -- so beyond the occasional call to say hello, they didn't speak much. The package he sent in the mail was a surprise, and a surprisingly welcome one at that until Sara began digging around the box for a note.

Her heart sank. She wasn't sure if the cocoon was for her, or was just something he sent to her to take care of until he got back. She didn't want to buy a small terrarium for her apartment along with supplies only to have him ask, upon his return, why on Earth she thought the bug was a present for her. So she put it in his office, determined to forget about it.

But Sara found herself drifting there every so often to check up on it. She'd stare into the glass cage and wonder where Grissom had been when he found it, what he was thinking when he extracted it from its home and sent it thousands of miles and into her care. She found it funny -- he had done the same with her seven years ago. After a call from him, in a manner of minutes the lifetime Californian was packing a suitcase and flying south to transplant her roots into the infertile desert soil.

Sara was in her own cocoon, warm and dormant, waiting to burst forth, waiting for change. Waiting.

She didn't want to be that woman anymore. He had been gone three weeks when she started planning her reaction to seeing him again in her head. "Oh," she'd say, determined to be casual, "you're back. Did you have a nice time?" Sara pictured herself emanating calmness as she drawled, "I'm sorry, I can't talk right now. I've got to make a phone call." That was the plan if he showed up at work. If he came directly to her place from the airport, she had a contingency plan. Sara would scrunch up her face, perfecting the look of illness, and then say, "I'm sorry. I've got a splitting headache. Can we talk later?" Either way, the goal was the same: appear unaffected and uninterested.

It was killing her that he was away. But she couldn't let that show. She couldn't let him know that, because he had so easily packed up and left her. Sara's whole heart had been in the relationship, but Grissom obviously was less invested. She recalled asking him out years ago only to be met with a "No." History was repeating itself, only now he knew what he was missing. He knew what being with her was like, and he still chose to leave. Throughout her years of loneliness in Las Vegas, Sara had clung to the notion that if only Grissom it a try, she'd make him happy.

He gave it a try, and now he was gone.

She did her best to go about work, even volunteering to search a garbage dump because it meant getting out of the lab and away from everything that reminded her of him. She returned to work, foul-smelling evidence in hand. Sara's mind had been buzzing with her case when she heard Grissom call her name from across the hall. All the time and energy she spent planning her first nonchalant moments seeing him again were shot to hell.

She smiled.

She couldn't help herself. Sara hadn't anticipated the rush she'd get just seeing his face again. He had re-grown his beard, and some distant part of her brain was recalling their first sweet moments as a couple. She managed to get a grip on herself as he called out to her that he'd see her later.

"Yeah, you will," she said, the smile fading from her face.

The shocking death of Michael Keppler was enough to keep Grissom and Sara apart hours after his return from Massachusetts. The lab was up in arms, and it needed its steadfast leader. While Grissom manned the ship, Sara was content to fade into the background, avoiding him at every possible turn. She hadn't expected him to be damn near giddy to see her. She was ready for moody, she was ready for aloof and upset. She wasn't ready to be gobbled up in the middle of the lab hallway, which is what it seemed he was about to do had she not backed off and taken a shower. Sara knew that look. She had seen it before, and it usually led to her being horizontal on some surface.

She wasn't prepared for him to want her.

The moment she could escape, Sara fled to her apartment.

Grissom found her in her bed forty-five minutes later. "Hey, honey," he whispered as he pulled off his socks and tossed them on the floor. "You didn't tell me you were leaving."

She turned her head and blinked at him. "You were busy," she said plainly.

"Everything is a mess at work," he explained as he shimmied out of his pants. "Ecklie wants IA to investigate all of the cases Keppler worked on here, we've got to hire someone else as a replacement, and the mail is piled up sky high on my desk. I couldn't face it. I had to come home."

Sara instinctively scooted over in bed so he could climb in next to her. Grissom's arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her to him tightly, inhaling her scent. His hand had moved underneath her T-shirt to stroke the skin beneath. "You tired?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Oh." Grissom's hand stilled. "I missed you."

"Did you?" she asked, her voice low and guarded.

He rolled over, lifting himself up on an elbow. "You know I did. I told you I would."

"People say a lot of things. That doesn't always mean it's true."

The light in his eyes went out like a candle. She did what he had done countless times to her; she knocked the wind out of him with words alone. She turned, her back facing him, and closed her eyes, feeling completely empty. "Sara…" he whispered, his warm hand on her back. "I love you. You know I love you."

It hurt to hear him speak, because she couldn't believe him.

"Sara, I…what's wrong?"

She shifted on the bed, burying her face in her pillow. "Can we just talk about it tomorrow?"

"Honey…"

"Please," she begged when she felt stray tears begin to wet the pillowcase.

He was quiet, but he kept a hand on her back.

When Sara woke, the bed was empty. She heard the sound of running water in the kitchen, and could smell the first drips of fresh coffee, but she was reluctant to get out of bed. She wanted to delay facing him for as long as possible. Grissom was going to want to talk. He claimed he loved her, and Sara believed that he honestly thought that. But what was love for him? Was it convenience? Because she supposed she was as convenient a significant other as they came -- she understood his job, worked the same hours, didn't demand pricey gifts or evenings out. She had no plans to push him into marriage and a family. Though she didn't know much about the day-to-day events in his life before their relationship, Sara didn't think it varied too much from the routine they had established as a couple, save for the sex. She knew that had been a change of pace for him: their first time had to be temporarily postponed because the condom in Grissom's wallet had expired in 1997. She supposed she was an easy upgrade for him -- it only took minimal effort and he got companionship on demand.

"Hello."

Sara blinked and looked up. He was in the doorway, clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, holding two cups of steaming coffee. Grissom slowly walked towards her and handed her a mug. She blew on the liquid softly and then took a sip. "Thank you," she murmured.

"You're welcome." He sat down with his own cup at the foot of the bed. "You look so beautiful."

She stared down at the liquid in her hands.

"I never should've left, should I?"

"It's not just about that," she said, her eyes still on her coffee.

Grissom's hand held her calf over the sheet. "What, then?" he asked emphatically.

Sara inhaled through her nose loudly. "I'm beginning to think…I'm beginning to think we want the same things, but for different reasons."

"I don't under--"

"I was happy," she interrupted.

He furrowed his brows, moving slightly, sloshing coffee on his shirt. "Shit. Sara, I--" She handed him the box of tissues on the nightstand. "I don't understand," he said as he soaked up the coffee stain. "I was happy, too. I _am _happy. This is about me leaving. I told you, I didn't leave because of you."

She put down her cup on the nightstand. "So, I didn't factor into you leaving at all?"

"No," he insisted. "You didn't even cross my mind when I made the decision…"

As his voice petered off into oblivion, Sara felt tears spring to her eyes. She quickly darted her head down. "I want you to leave."

"I didn't mean--"

"Please, go," she begged.

"God, Sara…you're my life," he breathed. He leaned forward. "You know I love you. You have to know how much I love you…"

She choked back a sob. "Just go."

Grissom got up from the bed. "I'm going to leave you alone for a little while...but I'm not leaving you. I'm here when you want to talk." He put his coffee down on the nightstand next to hers and began gathering the clothes he had discarded the night before. She watched him through lidded eyes as he put his stuff in the hamper with hers.

"What are you doing?" she sniffed.

Grissom stood up straight and turned to face her. "I'm doing our laundry, honey."

THE END


End file.
